Groomless - Part 3 (11 page)

“I might be willing to trade this very savory half-cracker for some sort of…favor,” he offered.

“You think I’d prostitute myself for that? That’s insulting.”

“What if I add cheese? Will that seal the deal, get you to give it up?”

“Uh, I gave it up at seventeen—to you, as a matter of fact.” I hissed merrily, and he stifled a laugh.

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?”

“One of the best,” I agreed, almost wistfully.

I remembered every detail: how nervous and scared I was, how tender he was, and how shocked I was when he sat up in the back seat of his Nissan, our clothes disarranged and half-removed, and admitted that it was his first time too. No matter how much I teased him about never having gotten any other offers, I knew that wasn’t the reason. He was just waiting for someone he loved, and that someone was me. To that day, it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to me, and I’d never forgotten it. We had fumbled our way together, bumping teeth, getting my hair caught on one of his shirt buttons, and a dozen other little mistakes born of innocence and eagerness, but it remained one of my most cherished memories.

When he told me he’d been stealing his mother’s issues of
Cosmo
for three months so he could read about how to please me, I just laughed at him, but I also took it to heart that he cared enough to actually research it. That first time, he carried me to trembling heights of pleasure that I never knew were even possible. Luke put his hands on me, kissed me sweetly and savagely, and reached softly inside of me with his finger, questing as I rubbed against his hand, climaxing fast again and again, shuddering against him. Nothing had ever felt as sweet and as heartbreaking as that night.

“I never thanked you properly,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For making a man of me, for…initiating me.”

“You’re welcome, but this isn’t exactly the dinner conversation I’m used to.”

“Then you need new friends, the kind who compliment your teenage sexual prowess.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself. All those weeks of memorizing
Cosmo
paid off. I don’t know any other woman who got off her first time.”

“Wait. You’ve talked to other women about that?”

“Not about you specifically, no, but Kate and I have talked. Girls do that. She didn’t have a pleasant first experience, and neither did any of our other friends. One even sprained her wrist somehow.”

“Ouch. That wasn’t in
Cosmo
.”

“See? More men should read the classics to learn some basic technique. You could teach a class.”

“If we expand into community education, I’ll pitch that for a seminar topic,” he said, deadpan.

I nodded, straight-faced.

“Would you sign up for the class?”

“I think I’ve already passed that one. I could proficiency test out of it to a higher level. I had an awesome professor who taught me well.”

“I can’t argue with the truth,” he said with a salute.

“If I don’t get another cracker or something, I’m going to turn cannibal.”

“If you do, kill the guy giving the speech first. If he’d shut up, we could have dinner.”

“Aren’t there two more speeches after this one? People will get suspicious if they don’t follow the program.”

“I said kill him first, not exclusively. The other two will have to be on your hit list, or we’ll never even be served soup.”

“That’s sad,” I remarked. “I’m so hungry.”

“I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“It’s safe to say I owe you a social function or two, even for a fake date.”

“You’re my real date tonight, not just a fake bride.”

“Thanks. I’m going to see my dad in the morning. He wants to hear about the plans and stuff. He’s really excited that you’re part of this. He’s always liked you.”

“That means a lot to me, more than you know, JJ.”

We sat through speeches and ate a somewhat dismal, under-spiced tuna entrée before making our escape.

“What were the last two speeches about?”

“No clue. I was playing Candy Crush on my phone.”

“I knew you weren’t checking your email that long,” I said, sounding like a scolding mother.

“Want a burger?”

“I do, but I’d better get home. Here’s your jewelry.” I reached inside his jacket and dropped the earrings into his inner pocket.

Luke caught my wrist in his hand, turned it over, and kissed my palm, driving me crazy. I shivered at the touch of his mouth on the sensitive, unaccustomed skin of my palm.

“I knew I’d never forget your birthday,” he said in a low voice, “or anything else about you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Luke.”

“It’s only natural. You’re unforgettable, Julia.”

Chapter 9

The Today Show
appearance was less terrifying than our other TV show appearances, but Luke took the ball and ran with it. He talked about us being high school sweethearts who realized we were better off as friends, and he said he had remained close to my dad. He told the hosts and the crowd, “We bonded over our mutual love of the Mets, and that filled a place in my heart, because my own dad was a bit of a workaholic and didn’t have time to take me to ballgames.”

I looked at him sideways when he divulged that to the crowd and the camera. Either it was a bit of an exaggeration, or it was just a bunch of PR bullshit Liz had ordered him to say, because he’d never really mentioned much of that to me.

He took my hand and held it almost affectionately, then continued, “Julia was such a big part of who I became, because we grew up together. I love her family, and it means the world to me that she knew she could count on me to do what I can to help make this a little bit easier for them.”

“So you stepped up and offered to be her groom? Wow!” the host said.

I smiled in spite of myself, simply because it was impossible not to smile at her.

“She asked me to, and that was brave of her. After all these years, she wasn’t sure I’d even remember her. She honestly said that. I have to tell you, that hurt me a little. Julia is not the kind of person anyone can just forget.”

He continued holding my hand, and he said the words so sincerely that I wanted to believe him. I had to bite my tongue to give myself a reality check, to remind myself that it was all just a big PR stunt and nothing more.

“That’s just because I broke your finger,” I said, not even meaning to.

“Wait. You broke his finger?” the host asked.

“When we were, I don’t know, fifteen or so. He was trying to teach me to shoot a three-pointer. I was terrible in gym, and I wouldn’t have survived getting a B in it. Anyway, I was trying to get the ball away from him, and he was dodging me and laughing. When I tried to take the ball, I sort of smashed his fingers backward and broke his pinky,” I said with a giggle.

“So, Luke, did you tell your teammates that a fifteen-year-old girl broke your finger?” the host asked, smiling.

“Of course I did.”

“Weren’t you embarrassed?”

“Yes, it was quite humorous,” he said, smirking over at me. “Not sure if I’ll ever live that one down. Can we delete this part of the interview? You can edit this, right?”

The audience laughed at that, and so did I.

“Well, it’s wonderful to hear this story, truly refreshing. Thank you for sharing it with us, and I hope your friendship lasts for years to come,” the host said.

We got up and walked offstage, to another round of applause, and we both began unfastening our mics.

Luke laughed. “How long has my second button been undone? Liz is gonna have my ass.”

“Mine too. I forgot to call you a prince.”

“We’re both toast. We should go into hiding.”

“I hear Mexico is nice. We could ditch all this drama for a good margarita on the beach,” I said wistfully.

“Want to go there for our fake honeymoon?”

“There is no fake honeymoon, Luke. We dance, cut the cake, and then I toss the bouquet for the next fake bride to catch. Then we all go home, and the next morning, I have to call in hospice for my dad.”

“Sounds to me like you could use a Mexican holiday, fake honeymoon or not.”

“Thanks,” I said, scratching my shoulder. “Ick. I hate this dress.”

“Not even my sister would wear that, and her entire house is floral, inside and out.”

“Yeah, well Liz wanted me to look sweet and feminine and answer to Julia.”

On the way home, we looked through the childhood photos of ourselves and made appropriate noises of mortification and self-deprecatory comments. Luke liked the one of us at the lake, on a school field trip, when I was scaring him with a frog I picked up. I preferred the snapshot of me with hair so big it would have made some zebra-Spandex eighties hair band jealous; my do was so out of control that half his face was blocked from the picture. All in all, the talk show wasn’t such a horrible experience, and it was kind of fun revisiting those old memories with Luke.

***

In time, speculations began to run rampant, claims that we were secretly involved because of our “telltale rapport,” as one blogger put it. Others were less delicate about it and insisted that we were lovers exploiting my dad’s illness for good publicity

“Girl, look at these headlines,” Zack said when I visited him in the hospital.

“Zack, why do you read those rags?” I said, snatching the magazine from him. “The front cover of this thing says Oprah’s dating an alien and some guy spotted a half-man/half-unicorn in some swamp in Alabama. Seriously, Zack. How can you believe any of those so-called headlines?”

“What!? This is honest reporting, JJ. Have you seen Oprah lately, honey?” he said. “She’s not exactly the one E.T. wants to phone home about, but these guys got the scoop.”

I rolled my eyes, laughed at him, and smacked him playfully on the arm with the gossip rag.

“Hey! Don’t hit an injured man now. I don’t wanna have to call that bitchy nurse back in here. I swear, she oughtta ask the doctor for some extra-strength Midol,” he said. “She’s got PMS twenty-four/seven.”

“Maybe she’s got PZS.”

“What’s that?” he asked, looking over at me from his hospital bed and groaning when he turned his head.

“Putting up with Zack Syndrome.”

“Very funny, girl. Now here. Sign my cast,” he said, handing me a Sharpie, “and don’t write nothing naughty in my naughty places.”

By the time I left the hospital, Zack had me laughing like crazy. He had a gift for that, and I appreciated it, because everything about the fake wedding reception was really getting to me. Luke was stirring up all sorts of memories and feelings that felt sweet sometimes but stung other times, and while I was grateful that so many people and organizations were donating so much to make the event spectacular, there was still a to-do list as long as my arm. To make matters worse, it also took serious dissuading to convince my dad that everything with Luke was fake; he was certain that I was falling for Luke again and that we would ultimately end up together, and I had to tell him over and over again how absurd that was.

It was difficult to focus on my responsibilities in the midst of all my worries about Dad and the planning and preparations for the fake reception. I was almost late for work after two days off, and I knew my boss was not going to be happy about that. I decided to pick up my paycheck that had been waiting for me for over a week at my old job. It would be nice to check in with my old co-workers and Santino.

“What’s up?” I asked the people in the kitchen when I came in through the back door.

“Seems the press found out where you use to work, JJ. They still think you work here. You’re quite the celebrity, and it seems to be drawing a crowd,” Santino said. “The city has seen your sad story and come here, hoping to see you for themselves.”

Cal joined in, “I heard Trump’s gonna buy you a restaurant and back some kind of cooking show for you. Are you giving up photography? I thought you hated counting olives.”

“All lies…except the counting olives part,” I said. “Mr. Trump has better things to do with his millions than funding a cooking show for me. As for photography, it’s my real passion, and I’m not about to give it up,” I said. “I’m a lot better with a camera than I am with a steak knife anyway.”

“Well, your plight has been good for business here, to say the least. We are booked for the next five weeks, every evening. Also, there are cards and flowers and stuffed toys piled up for you in the office. Well-wishers were not sure where else to drop them off.”

“You’re kidding,” I said, grinning at Cal as he began to distribute olives onto the focaccia.

“I suppose some come here hoping to glimpse the two of you together. They assume Luke will be hanging around with you all the time,” Santino said.

Cal leaned over and whispered, “Heck, there are people placing bets on whether or not you’ll screw before the reception even happens.”